The Shadow Warrior
by Bineshii
Summary: Brian goes alone on an adventure. He is sent to the Isle of Skye to learn the name of a trainer of knights, in the guise of a new student of this mysterious person.


**Note before this story:** This story follows chronologically, the story "Encounter with a Disarming Lady" which is Lancelot centered. This story is Brian centered. I hope I did not over do the Scottish accent of one of my original characters. I was having fun with the glossary in the back of one of my Robert Burns books, even though an 18th century accent would hardly have been the same in the 6th century. I am also mixing the concept of chivalry into the 6th century when it actually did not arise until at least the 11th century. But mixing things from different centuries is all part of the Arthurian legends!

**The Shadow Warrior**

**A further adventure in The Adventures of Sir Lancelot**

By Bineshii

Brian reined back his brown gelding. The horse immediately lowered his head to crop grass while Brian arched his back to ease the soreness of the long ride. He sighed. How was he to cross to the island? There was no boat in sight and the sun was sinking to the west behind the island. He would have to camp rough again, so he might as well go down near the shore just in case a boat should come along.

He had unsaddled his horse and created a shelter of sorts with a heavy cloth tied between two trees. Treated with pitch, it would keep out the damp. He had just unrolled his bedding when voices drifted in over the water and the dipping of oars could be heard. Peering into the descending darkness, he saw a flat sort of boat approaching the shore. Well, not a boat, a sturdy raft on which two horses stood between men bending to sweep long oars back along the sides of the raft. The raft bucked up against a sandy place on the shore, making the horses shift their weight to maintain their balance. One man hopped off the raft and approached Brian.

"Guid- e'en, laddie. Would yoursel' be in need o' a ride o'er ta the Isle o' Skye?"

Brian nodded to him. "That depends on the rent."

"Aye," said the man, placing his hands on his hips and studying Brian. "Weel , I wadna ask muckle, sin' I maun return ta the island afore dark. I live there, ye ken. Mak me an offer."

As a man and a woman led their horses off the raft and mounted to ride off, Brian withdrew from his vest, the purse Sir Lancelot had given him and selected one of the few coins he had left. He held it out in his palm, hopefully.

The man frowned, but swiped the coin up and nodded.

"It will only take a short time to pack up my tarp and resaddle my horse," Brian explained.

"Mak it quick, lad. We need the last o' the light ta see by, there bein' nae moon tonight."

Brian made haste and soon found himself rolling with the gentle waves over the calm sea, his legs spread, like that of his horse, to maintain balance on the raft. To make conversation, he asked "do you know the one called The Shadow?"

The man he had paid for the ferrying to the island raised a toothless smile as he plied his oar. "Naturally I do. Why else daes ilka stranger come from far awa ta our island? In need o' a bit o' trainin' at the sword isna yoursel'?"

"Yes. I see I have come to the right place."

"Indeed ye hae."

As the last of the light faded, silence descended on the raft as the oarsmen concentrated on their task. Brian, bone weary, was eager for a bit to eat and a bed.

The raft touched the shore in the dark, sending Brian stumbling against his horse who braced them both up, having four legs to do it with.

"Gang owre the hill-tap ta the stable. Yoursel' may lea'e your horse to a guid beddin' down there, and tak yoursel' aff ta the second wee biel behint the stable. Ellen will see you get a mug o' barley-bree, a bowl of het parritch, a bannock, an' a bit straw ta lie down on. She, like me, wadna ask muckle. In the morning, gae thysel' ta the castle an' meet wi' The Shadow. Ye hae somethin' ta show yoursel' be kenn'd ta someone The Shadow kens?"

"I do," said Brian.

"Then aff wi' ye," said the oarsman, slapping Brian's horse on the rump so that it leaped to the shore with Brian leaping after it so it would not run off.

...

The next morning, Brian used both hands to yank on the bell pull outside the small castle. The bell was a dull one, sounding flat, but loud enough to bring a head peering over the wall to look down at him.

"An eager one, are ye? Could ye nae hae waited the rise of the sun? Okay, okay, I'm openin' the gate."

Brain heard the rasp of the portcullis rising and walked through to a courtyard. The man who raised the gate had disappeared. Brian turned around slowly, noting lances leaning against the walls, swords in a wooden rack, shields in stacks on the bare ground. He walked once around the yard, then he sat on the second step up from the yard to what obviously was the main door to a hall. Leaning his head on his hands and his hands on his knees, he waited.

And waited.

He smelled wood smoke and burned stew. He heard conversation and laughter. The sun had risen above the wall spilling into the courtyard before the door behind him opened. He turned, and then stood up. A young woman dressed in trousers like a man was coming down the steps. She wore a vest with a design of knot work embroidered on it, in the manner of the Celts. The whole outfit seemed worn and mended with a couple of patches. Perhaps she could tell him where to find the man who was The Shadow - the man who had transformed Sir Dennis from a timid and mediocre fighter into a competent knight.

"Young man, tell me your story," the young woman demanded. "I would know if you are worthy of my attention."

A bit full of herself, Brian thought, for he had judged her a possible servant in the household. But he was a stranger and must be on his best behavior. He tumbled out his cover story.

"Lady, I seek the one called The Shadow. I have this token from Sir Dennis who recommends me," he said as he pulled out of his vest, the holed stone on a leather lanyard. I am to show this to The Shadow and tell him that I was having a difficult time at the Squires School at Camelot because of my humble birth, even though I had the sponsorship of my knight and mentor, Sir Lancelot of the Lake. I am his squire."

"Sir Lancelot?" she said, surprised. "Even here, we have heard this name. You are his squire and have trained at the Squires School of Camelot? That is a great privilege. I have met a few who have trained there. It is a very good school. So why have you come to me?" She frowned, studying him sharply.

"I have not come to YOU, My Lady. I have come to train with The Shadow. I need to improve my swordsmanship so Master Hugh and the squires will start to take me seriously and give me a chance instead of ignoring me so that I must sit and only watch their practice sessions."

"I see," she nodded. "Just enough training to let them see you are a serious student. This would not take too long, I am thinking."

She turned her back to him and strode to the rack of swords, deftly withdrawing two of them. Then she turned back to face Brian and tossed him one of the swords. It sang through the air smartly so that he had to reach out and snatch it before it hit him in the chest.

"Good reflexes. And you have broad shoulders. How old are you, Boy?"

"Fourteen," Brian said with a rise in his voice on the last part of the word.

"Tall for your age. At your full height, you could be quite formidable. Let's see what you can do already, before The Shadow decides to take you on."

"Lady, I am bound to be a protector of women, like my knight. Please, if The Shadow wishes to test me to see if I live up to my vows, let him see that I do not attack a woman." And Brian laid the sword down on the ground in front of him.

She smiled and stuck the point of her sword in the ground, leaning on it, and tilted her head slightly, saying "Honoring an oath is commendable. What is your name, Boy?"

"I am called Brian, My Lady."

"Brian, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Scathach. It is a name that has been passed down in my family from mother to daughter for many generations since my warrior forebears left Ireland. Scathach is a good Celtic name whose meaning is The Shadow. I am no soft and simpering court lady. Be assured your oath does not apply to such women as me."

With that, she pulled her sword out of the ground and pointing it at the sword in front of Brian, advancing on him saying "let us see what your Squires School and Sir Lancelot have taught you so far before I make a decision about training you."

...

The clang of metal on metal rang in the courtyard until the sun had climbed a good deal higher. Then Scathach took three steps back from Brian, dropped the point of her sword and stabbed it into the ground with one hand, while she raised her other hand palm forward in the universal signal to halt. Brian, his sword held above his head two handedly in shaky, sweaty arms, lowered his sword, wincing with effort. He just let the sword fall flat on the ground and backed up to a wooden bench, practically falling into it.

Scathhach chuckled in a low voice and gracefully stepped over to the bench to sit down beside him. She let him catch his breath for a couple of minutes. Then patting his knee she spoke. "Not bad. They have taught you something at that famous school of yours. But you are not particularly good yet, either. Do you practice with Sir Lancelot?"

"Of course! But he still backs me across the practice ground without breaking into a sweat, while rivulets of sweat are running down my face."

"It is good that he works you hard."

"I know that I have not yet felt the full force of his power or speed. I think he takes me to about the edge of what I can stand."

She nodded. "As it should be. I sure would like to have a practice session with him."

"I will ask him to do so. But you will have to convince him too, that it is alright to have sword practice with SOME ladies. Will you come to Camelot? Everyone is very curious about the strange trainer of knights from up north."

"Brian," she said softly, "It used to be perfectly acceptable, at least among the Celtic peoples, that a woman could choose the martial life. But now it is rare, because this concept of chivalry is becoming so popular. Women like me are looked down upon with fear and disgust, even among my own people. It is believed that no woman could accomplish what I have, without the aid of Witchcraft. But Witchcraft it is not. It is simply many years, starting in childhood, of exhaustive training and sacrifice."

Brian put both his hands on the bench to ease his aching back. "I can easily believe that! Lancelot and Master Hugh never let up on me. Sometimes I am so sore, I could cry. Then something inside me says 'No you don't. You chose this life, now deal with it.' So I do. And do you know something else? I do understand people looking down at a person with distaste. I guess not being of noble blood is similar to being female when it comes to advanced training at arms."

"Exactly," she said. "That is why I am willing to make a pact with you. I will train you, not just in swordsmanship and pike, but with the quarterstaff, whip, and pole for vaulting walls. Then you will learn to swim with a barbed lance for underwater fighting. Many of these skills are specialized and not in the normal curriculum of knighthood as I understand it, for they come from a time before knighthood was conceived of. Your training will take most of the summer season that is fast coming upon us. If you work hard, the time will fly by. But first, you must take an oath of silence as to my true name and gender."

Brian kicked a clot of dirt with his toe, thinking about this. Then he asked: "may I at least tell those who sent me to learn about you and from you, the various skills that you teach me?"

"That much I will allow. You may pass these skills on to others if they subscribe as you do, to the ethics King Arthur insists upon in those that swear allegiance to him. And I will give you a token to give to one other person whom you trust, to come train with me. Do you agree?"

He sighed and kicked another clot of dirt. "Okay. It was the same with Sir Dennis. He would not expose you, even under heavy questioning to the point of bullying by several of the knights. I can take that too."

"Good boy. Now kneel in front of me and holding something precious to you against the hilt of that sword you were using, swear that you will be a diligent student and not reveal my name or gender to anyone."

Brian took Aveline's handkerchief out of his tunic and retrieving the sword, pressed the handkerchief to the sword hilt. Getting down on sore legs awkwardly, he made the vow.

...

And so began a regimen of training that brought Brian to the brink of exhaustion on a daily basis. They started with sword work, as Brian was furthest along in this skill. Scathach had questioned Brian on the order in which Master Hugh had taught different moves. Her warm ups and progressions, though more intense than Hugh's, left her four current students less sore at night than the longest day at the Squire's School, Brian thought. She was the best teacher he had had so far because she was able to give her students more individual attention than Brian had ever experienced before. Sure, Sir Lancelot gave him individual attention, but the knight had other duties which kept him busy and Brian spent much of his time with Lancelot in support functions like equipment maintenance. This small school on Skye was like the couple of weeks he had spent with Master Michael at Benwick. What an honor that had been to have Sir Lancelot's mentor all to himself for a couple of weeks! But Scathach made her four students work with each other so they got some variety in their practice.

During breaks, Scathach told Brian something of her family history.

"An ancestor of mine, the first Scathach, trained the great Irish warrior Cu Chulainn. He stayed with her for one year. You will have two months. We will have to use the time well. You will learn the skills of siegecraft and breaking of sieges. I imagine your Squires School covers these useful arts?"

"Yes, but we rely on Roman texts and those who are descendants of Romans who passed the techniques on. I have not heard of Cu...what?"

"Cu Chulainn. No matter, the first Scathach trained many men, as did her daughter, Uathach, and I also have trained many." She gripped a barbed lance nestled among the group of lances against the wall. "Now, this underwater barbed harpoon was an invention of the first Scathach. Do you swim, Brian?"

"I do...in small ponds and quiet rivers and on the surface of the water. Must I go under? It is so dark down there and I can't breathe down there either."

"Of course you can't breathe underwater, silly. You must learn to fill your lungs and stay under for increasing periods of time. You can use many of the holds and hold breaking techniques you use on land. There are some modifications though, and the moves do not work as fast underwater. This afternoon when the small nearby lake is at its warmest, you will start building your swimming stamina by surface swimming five times around the lake near the shore."

"Yes, Mam," said Brian, sounding more confident than he felt.

...

After two weeks of daily surface swimming, Brian was given distances to swim underwater of increasing length. He learned to judge how many strokes it took him to cover different distances. Not being able to see deeper down, he learned to handle an underwater attack by man who came at him in the murky depths from above, below, in front of, and behind him. It took quite a while to acquire any accuracy with launching a harpoon. Scathach made him throw spears through the air in the morning and harpoons through the water in the afternoon. That way, he kept up his accuracy in both environments.

One morning, Scathach had a set of freshly cut poles stacked against the courtyard wall.

"These are too long to throw, I think," observed Kevin, one of the other students.

Brian took one in both hands. "I think this would bend a little. So it might wobble if you threw it, in addition to being too long for accurate throwing."

Scathach, leaning against the wall and smiling at them with her arms crossed, asked "so what do you think these might be good for?"

Puzzled, the four students whispered among each other. Then one of them said "Firewood? After a couple of months drying out, that is."

Scathach threw her arms up and laughed. "Wrong. I guess I will have to show you."

She grabbed a pole and went out of the courtyard into the tilting field. Following her, the four students saw a shallow pit filled with sawdust shavings and bird feathers. On either side of the pit were posts with notches set at different heights up to thirty feet. There was a horizontal pole set in the notches ten feet off the ground.

Scathach ran toward the pit holding one end of the pole with the full length of the pole in front of her. When she reached the edge of the pit, she stabbed the far end of the pole into the ground. The momentum of her run lifted her off the ground. The pole bent slightly with her weight, then sprang up into the air with her at the top of it. She swung her legs skyward, sailing over the cross bar, and twisting, fell on her back into the pit. Standing, she brushed feathers and saw dust off her trousers and tunic, and smiling, snatched up the pole to walk back to the students who were gaping at her open-mouthed.

"You want us to do that?" asked Brian, incredulous.

"Not only from this low height, but progressively from each of the heights notched into the support poles," she told them.

Brian stared up at the highest notches and swallowed. "Um, I guess that some castle walls might be low enough to vault over, but you are taking a chance on what you might be landing on at the other side of the wall."

Scathach nodded at Brian. "You understand the purpose of this exercise, I see. Good. As to what is on the other side of any wall, well, that is a risk that a warrior takes in stride."

Kevin nodded and Thomas sighed. Brian raised his eyebrows, making a slight grimace, while William shrugged.

"First," said Scathach, "you must learn how to hold the pole. It will help you twist at the top of your flight so you can judge how you must land to sustain the least amount of injury. You use your core muscles more than the arm and leg muscles which are used in other martial skills. It will take you a lot of practice to become proficient at this skill. There are four parts to this skill: the approach, the pole planting, the swing up, and then the push off to landing."

"Notice that she said 'least amount of injury', not 'no injury'," whispered Thomas.

"And what if the castle wall is fifty feet high?" asked Brian.

"In that case," smiled Scathach, "This thirty foot pole will smack you against the wall at thirty feet up it. You must then immediately find hand and foot holds to climb up the last twenty feet. The advantage there would be you could then climb down the inside of the wall instead of dropping into the unknown. As warriors, you should be looking for the advantages in any situation. If you start dwelling on the disadvantages, you might as well stay at home to milk the cows and spin thread."

Brian nodded. He was sure that Scathach was as unfamiliar with these womanly arts she had just mentioned, as he was.

...

Brian had worked hard all summer long. But now, the leaves were starting to turn on the trees – a beautiful riot of yellow and red. Brian woke on these cooler fall mornings feeling energetic and confident. He was glad the swimming lessons and water fighting practice were now behind them, as the lake had chilled down. Scathach had pronounced him 'adequate' at harpoon, staff, pike, and vault pole. He was judged 'good' in swordsmanship. She had wanted him to stay for at least a year, like the others, but Brian reiterated that his goal had been only to attain a proficiency level which would allow him to join in at everything in the Squires School. He was sure he now had what he needed.

Scathach had pinched his cheek, and pressed into his hand, a holed Celtic coin on a lanyard, to pass on to someone he chose to succeed him as her student. She reluctantly gave him permission to return to Camelot before the snow isolated the north, making travel south near to impossible.

"I will never forget you," Brian said huskily. He knew that if he stayed any longer he might become as attached to her as he was to Sir Lancelot. He had a new respect for what women were capable of - what anyone was capable of, if they put their mind to learning something.

"Don't go getting weepy on me now, boy," she said. "Go. With my blessing. Teach your new skills to others. You have learned much from me, but I have also learned from you. I approve of these ethics of the Squires School that you have made me aware of. And I have always supported King Arthur's vision for his kingdom. Someday, I am sure both women and people of modest birth will openly be allowed the same rights as those born with more advantages. You and I probably will not live to see that day, though. Yet maybe you and I might meet again - hopefully on the same side of the battle field."

...

Brian had left the next morning. This time, the journey was faster as he was acquainted with the route he had to take, knowing its dangerous places and how to avoid trouble. Traveling alone on the journey south, he covered the miles faster than on the journey north.

Coming out of the cool woods into the warm and bright sunlight to a panoramic view of Camelot one mid afternoon, was awe inspiring. It was good to see the towers and battlements of King Arthur's castle again. Brian stopped on a hillside to look down on fields and orchards that stretched for miles around the great castle. Fall had yet to touch the land as deeply as it had set in further north. There were people at all kinds of domestic farm tasks, and under the castle walls he could see men on the practice fields. He was eager for a bath, a change of clothes, and the sound of Sir Lancelot's voice, even if only to tease or to scold him. Brian was home.

...

"No you don't! Not in MY kitchen. I don't care what privileges you had in the kitchen of Urgan the Strong."

Brian grinned. He knew Martha, the second under cook, despite her cuffing rebuff, was glad he had snatched at her pastries instead of anyone else's. Fresh from a good scrub-down from the water barrel in the wet yard, and now in a soft court tunic, he thought to satisfy a growling stomach before going to look for Sir Lancelot in the knight's recreation hall or the queen's sitting room.

"Did you find that shadow warrior you went to see?" asked one of the serving pages as he selected fruit and bread for a tray he was taking somewhere.

"Yes, I did. My mission was a success."

"Great," smiled the boy. "Here, have a pear." He tossed one to Brian.

Catching the pear, Brian took a healthy bite of it.

"Pears. I have seen enough of those lately! Brian, must it be a pear I see you biting into as the first sight of my squire since spring time?"

"Sir Lancelot!" Brian stood, the pear rolling off the table as he looked up to the stairway that descended down into the kitchen. "I was coming to see you, really, just after I had a quick snack."

"Well then, I see you have your priorities in order. I saw you ride in and was waiting for you."

Brian looked sheepish. "I thought you were busy with the queen. That is what people told me."

"You could have come to the queen's sitting room and announced your presence. That would have been the proper thing to do. But no matter, come."

As Lancelot turned to ascend the stairs, Brian pushed back the bench to rise and follow.

Back in Lancelot's private quarters, the grilling began.

"So what did you learn about this shadow?"

"My lord, The Shadow is as skilled a teacher as Sir Dennis said. I was accepted as a student and worked to the point of exhaustion. First it was sword drills and bouts. Then pike, staff, and whip. Also pole vaulting, which is good for walls up to thirty feet high and I learned to keep my eyes open under water so I could aim a spear."

"That is all very well, Brian, but does this shadow have a name?"

"Yes..."

"Well?"

I had to take an oath, My Lord," said Brian softly, staring at the small rug next to Lancelot's bed. "The same as Sir Dennis did."

"You were sent there to discover important information. The name of this warrior was the most important thing to discover."

"But, Sir Lancelot, I would not have been taken on as a student if I had not agreed to her...I mean HIS terms! Oh, and, by her, I am referring to the old lady who runs the The Shadow's kitchen there on Skye and doles out snacks as if they were gold coins."

Though what Brian said about the Celtic battle axe of a kitchen matron was true, Lancelot glanced with bemusement at the boy's slip of the tongue. He then turned his back to Brian and paced to the window, hands clasped behind his back. Brian's mood sank. He waited for his mentor to say that he had failed.

Lancelot turned back to Brian, one eyebrow raised. "I once told you that if I revealed the king's battle plans under threat of torture, you would one day despise me. I see now that this is a similar situation. A vow to withhold information is to be respected. Okay, Brian, I will not torture you to get this information."

Brian looked up in alarm. Lancelot was smiling. Relieved, Brian fished for something to turn the conversation around to other things. So he offered "But I learned some unusual things which I would like to show you! I brought back one of those vaulting poles and also an underwater spear. Would you like to see them now? And should we choose another person to send for training by The Shadow?"

"I think we can take our time selecting someone else to send," said Sir Lancelot. And, I am sure that your new auxiliary skills will become useful...sometime or other."

"I hope so," Brian said eagerly. "By the way, the rumor in the kitchen is that you have acquired a new skill too, My Lord."

"Oh? And what would that be, Brian?"

"Tree climbing."

Brian's reflexes had improved over the summer. He managed to duck sideways as a well-aimed gauntlet whistled by him. Brian's face broke out into one of his impossibly cute smiles which melted away the burning edge of Lancelot's quick-to-defensive-response nature. Lancelot went over to Brian, raising a hand as if to muss his hair, thought better of it, and clapped his arm around Brian's shoulders. It seemed he had to reach his arm higher than before to reach the boy's shoulder. Was it an illusion, or had the boy grown a bit taller over the last three months?

"Come, Brian, let us go down to the practice yards. I'd like to see if you have learned anything immediately useful from your mysterious shadow warrior."

**Note after the story:**

This story is dedicated to the women who stand into danger in modern armies. They fight, receive severe wounds, and even die, alongside the men. They return home and have the same problems of reintegration into their culture as the men do. And it is harder for them, as they try to relearn the roles of females where the men do not have to relearn their roles as males.

In particular I'd like to dedicate the story to Army Pfc. Lori Piestewa, a Hopi Indian, the first female American soldier to be killed in combat in the 2003 Iraq War. She was part of a company that was ambushed in southern Iraq on March 23, 2003. Squaw Peak in north-central Phoenix was renamed Piestewa Peak in her honor. This renaming is also good because "squaw" is an offensive word that refers to female genitalia.

The story is also dedicated to my bi-cultural Celtic-Native American granddaughter, Skyelar (yes, she is named after the Isle of Skye). At age eight and a half, two years into practicing the martial art of taekwondo, she has made a vow, and received a patch which is sown on her uniform to show her commitment to work hard until she reaches the level of black belt.

12


End file.
